A Very Newsies Thanksgiving
by Sewnata
Summary: Hey guys! Ok, so Thanksgiving is coming up, so I wanted to write a little something for it. Crutchy decides to have a thanksgiving feast, but Jack doesn't agree after a hard day of selling papers. Will Jack realize that he does have some things to be thankful for? Please READ, REVIEW and CRITIQUE!


A Very Newsies Thanksgiving

By: Emma C. Greening

 **Disclaimer: I don't own anybody in this story, no newsies. The only person I own is the thief. *blushes***

"Hey, Jack! Ya wants to sell wit' me taday?" Crutchy yelled across the bunk room of the lodging house, swiping at his wet face with a towel. "Maybe we'se can pool our earnings for a T'anksgivin' feast, huh?"

Jack gave him a strange look as he pulled on his shirt, shivering in the chilly, November air. "Sure kid, but I ain't makin' any promises of celebratin' T'anksgvin'. I'se gotta pay Kloppman fa my rent, any how. But I'll sell wit' ya's." He grumbled at the cold outside, rubbing his hands together and blowing into them.

Crutchy pulled up alongside, grinning. "Sure is a great day, de sky's nice an' gray…dat rhymes doesn't it? Think I should write a poem 'bout T'anksgivin' dat starts like dat? Maybe Davey could help me, huh?" He paused, when he saw Jack bend over and pull out his loose shoe sole. It had been threatening to fall off for months, but now was the worst time to lose it, in the cold.

"Ohhhh, geez, dis is jus' great. I gotta sell wit' de ice comin' in, well isn't dat jus' dandy?" Jack said sarcastically. He trudged on, willing to hurry selling his papers so he could get back to the semi-warm lodging house.

*Later that Day*

Crutchy was whistling a happy tune as he scraped his shoes on the mat. "Hey guys, guess who sold all his hundred papes taday?" He asked happily. "I is goin' ta go ta de market soon, an' if you guys is willing, we can pool our earnin's ta get us a nice, T'anksgivin' feast for tomorrow."

Jack glared at his friend. He wasn't jealous per se, but upset that he hadn't sold even half of his papers. "Go on, rub it in, will ya's? You knows dat I ain't sold all mine taday, an' dat I'se gotta go back an' pay Weasel back for 'em."

"I'se sure dat Mr. Wiesel will be glads ta forgive ya's de debt, it bein' so soon ta T'anksgivin'. He gets softah 'round dat time, I t'ink he's anticipatin' de turkey an' cranberry sauce." Crutchy didn't pause in his optimism. "Jus' ask him, I'se sure he'll be nice."

Kid Blink snickered. "When pigs fly."

Jack turned beet red. He gripped Crutchy by his vest, shaking him a bit. "Ya t'inks so, huh? Well, you can just keep your ideas ta yaheslf, gimp! I ain't wantin' ta heah no more of dis T'anksgivin' business. It's alright for de rich folks who got plenty of money in their pockets. An' what reasons have we ta celebrate it anyways? You'se jus' a gimp wit' one leg, dat's all you've got, is you t'ankful for losin' ya uddah one? It was you'se stupid idea in the first place!" He accused, pointing his finger at his friend.

Crutchy stared at him a moment, giving a sad smile. "Yes, I is grateful that I even has one leg to hobble round on and that I has friend's like you guys. I-I'se guess if ya don't likes de T'anksgivin' spirit, you don't have to join in. I'm gonna go see if Spot an' his boys want to join us tomorrow, talk ta Klopman 'bout de celebratin', den go invite Mr. Wiesel ovah, an' de Delancey bruddahs. Nobody's forcin' ya's ta come an' celebrate, but I'se gonna get everything set up." Crutchy turned and limped out of the room, his face contorted in emotion.

Crutchy limped down the Brooklyn dock, stopping in front of the frothing water. The wind was picking up, and he had to keep his free hand up, to stop his cap from blowing off. He watched the sky grow darker, until he could hardly see his hand in front of his face.

"Jack's not my friend, no more, I guess." He whispered, a tinge of bitterness in his voice. "I wants him ta like my ideas, but he calls me an idiot…he ain't evah done dat before. Ya gotta gives him a little, Crutch, he'll come 'round, eventually…" The young boy yelped when he felt a cold, strong hand on his shoulder.

"You'se got money, kid?" A rough voice menaced from the darkness, the hand gripped Crutchy's shoulder tighter when he tried to struggle away.

"W-who wants ta know? I ain't got any money! An' even if I did, you're not gettin' it from me!" Crutchy shouted in fright, he'd forgotten how dangerous it was to wander Brooklyn docks at night. "Spot! Sp-mmmm!" Crutchy gasped as he felt another hand covering his mouth, someone was searching his pockets, but wasn't rewarded, Crutchy had already spent all the money on the Thanksgiving meal.

"You was right, gimp. Ya ain't got not'in. An' just to show how displeased I is with ya's, I is gonna kill ya's."

Crutchy screamed as he felt the icy water soaking his clothes, his good leg kicked wildly. He turned about, trying to find the dock, but couldn't see it in the dark. "Spot! Spot, help, I can't swim!" He shouted, trying to attract somebody's attention. He coughed and choked on the disgusting taste of salty water in his mouth, making his throat swell as he was dunked under again. "Spot!"

"Crutchy? Gimp, where are ya?" A voice was calling him from the pier, it sounded oddly like Racetrack's.

"I-I'se heah, Race!" Crutchy said as loudly as he could muster, his eyes widening when he felt his bad leg begin to drag him down farther into the water. "Race!" He gurgled, a wave splashing over his head. All he remembered was Race's hands grabbing him by the lapels of his shirt, a wave crashing down on the both of them, knocking him out. He slumped limply against Race's arms.

Race whispered a few choice Italian curse words. "Come on, ya gimp! Jack's real worried dat ya's ain't back, ya gotta come t'rough, Crutch. He's real sorry dat he was mean ta ya's." Race pushed his friend's body onto the pier, and dragged himself up, sitting there a moment to catch his breath.

"Race! Race, didja find Crutchy?" Jack was calling out in the dark. He gasped, when he almost tripped over Race and Crutchy at the end of the pier. "W-What happened ta him?" He knelt down next to Crutchy's limp form and pounded on his chest. "Ya gotta cough up de watah, Crutch. I-I'se real sorry dat I snapped at ya's, please…please don't die on me." He pleaded, breathing in relief as the cripple coughed up the water that had collected in his lungs.

"W-What happened?" Crutchy strained out, clutching at his burning throat. He rolled over, and spat on the dock, trying to get rid of the salty taste in his mouth. "I-I remembah dat der was dis guy dat was trying ta get me ta give him money. Don't remembah much else though."

"I'se just glad you're alive, ya gimp! An' I'se sorry fa snapping at ya, calling ya's an idjut, I should've never called ya dat, it ain't nice. I'se never called ya stuff like dat before now. Sorry, Race fa de way dat I'se been actin', I shouldn't've been treatin' you guys like dat, I didn't t'ink dat you wanted ta do T'anksgivin' like Crutchy did."

Race slapped his friend on the shoulder, grinning from ear to ear. "Yeah, yeah, you'se forgiven, Cowboy, hundred percent. But why don't you help de gimp up, an' dry him off? He's probably freezin' ta death."

"Yeah, you'se right. Come on Crutch, we'll get ya's all warmed up, make sure ya's don't get's pneumonia or something. Kloppman'll make sure dat you don'ts, come on." Jack took off his jacket and put it around Crutchy's thin shoulders, handing him his crutch, taking his other arm.

*Next Morning*

"You didn't invite the Delancey Bruddahs, didja?" There was a frightened look on Jack's face when he learned the news. The Delancey Brothers were coming for Thanksgiving dinner.

Crutchy grinned. "C'm on Jack, it's jus' one meal. Besides, I invited Mr. Wiesel, an' he's der uncle, we oughta be kind to him on T'anksgivin'."

"Well…alright, we'll let dem eat wit' us. But I ain't lettin' 'em sit by ya, Crutchy. What if dey don't keep de peace around here, an' try ta beat ya's up in de middle of the meal?" Jack voiced his fear, putting a strengthening hand on his friend's shoulder. "I'se gonna stand right by ya, an' make sure dat doesn't happen."

Crutchy looked up, when someone pounded on the Lodging house door. "Well, dat would be dem. Jus' in time for the party." He turned, to make sure that everything was straight for supper, and then hurried to let his guests in. "Hey Mistah Wiesel, an' Oscah an' Morris! Glad dat ya's could makes it, I'se sorry for de short notice, but de idea only hit me yestahday."

"OK, you stupid crip, where's de food?" Oscar cursed under his breath, throwing an arm around Crutchy's shoulders.

Crutchy grinned. "Right in here fella's. But we ain't gonna eat yet till de boys come back from sellin'. Jack an' I is early."

Morris chuckled. "We'se too hungry ta wait, maybe we'll jus' feast on ya's for a bit. C'm on, Uncle, jus' a little roughin' up?" He gave Wiesel a pleading look, and adjusted his bowler hat to the back of his head.

"No sir, you boys aren't roughin' up no'one, the crip-I mean Crutchy heah was kind enough ta let us have T'anksgivin' over heah, an' I think dat's real nice, considerin' how you'se treated him dis yeah. So settle down!" Wiesel said decidedly.

Jack breathed a sigh of relief, _that_ had been a near miss. He had expected that the Delancey Brothers would want to beat somebody up before dinner, but he was surprised to see that their uncle had a say.

Jack looked up when he saw the other boys come back from selling. "Hey fellas, we'se got a T'anksgivin' feast in heah, jus' waitin' ta be eaten!" He shouted, laughing as the boys filed in an unorderly way.

Crutchy held up his hand. "Jus' a minute! We'se all gotta say what we's t'ankful for, before we pigs out! It's a tradition ya know."

"Yeah, some tradition. Makes ya t'anksful for the plate of food afore ya eats it." Race shot back. He was rewarded by some tittering in the back ground.

Crutchy rolled his eyes. "Guess I'se goin' first then. I'se t'ankful for all me friends, an' this good food, and de lodgin' house ta sleep in. I'se also t'ankful for a steady job, and for Mister Wiesel who keeps us supplied with de papes, an' de Delancey Bruddah's who keep our life's interestin' instead of monotonous. Amen."

The prayer went around the table, even giving Wiesel and the Delancey's a chance at it. Jack stood up, raising his glass of juice above his head.

"I'se t'ankful for all me friends an' de food, but specially for me bruddah, Crutchy. I'se glad that he ain't drowned, after he got pushed inta de water last night, an' I hope dats not'in like dat happen's again. I didn't t'ink I had anyt'in' ta be t'ankful for, but I'se learned wrong. I guess I'se de last one, so…anyways…Amen." He said awkwardly.

Crutchy nodded. "Alright you fellas, dig in!"

The End


End file.
